I was not sure if I liked Tokyo but for Hex, my mother's wayward werecat, it was love at first bite.

The twelve-hour flight from London had been uneventful. Mostly because I drugged Hex up to her furry eyeballs with tranquilizers before locking the ugly beast in her shipping crate. The last thing we needed was Hex taking exception to riding in the hold, transforming, and ripping through everyone's luggage. Or worse, clawing her way into the passenger section and turning us into an episode from one of those badly made supernatural TV programs people who are not me watch.

It was a long walk through the brightly lit airport and only a very few foreigners waited with me in the immigration line. We seemed to be the last passengers in.

My hair is a rather startling shade of silver. My skin is pale. My eyes an uncanny emerald green. It had been years since I allowed just anyone to see the real me. The officials took my picture and my fingerprints. I smiled for my photo, knowing neither the camera nor the computer could reveal my true self – without or within.

Sorcerer, Soul Eater, murderer. Murderer many times over.

A new Soul Eater Cell had set up in Tokyo and I had come for revenge. It was two years since Caroline's death at the hands of the Club. My Caroline. Her soul ripped out in a terrible ceremony of dark magic. Ironic justice the one person I loved would suffer that fate at the hands of the sorcerers I had pledged myself to since childhood.

I was a master of the Dark Arts, an initiate into the Soul Eaters at the age of twelve, one of the youngest in their long history of murder and magic. How clever I thought myself. How wise and wicked. ‘Pride goeth before a fall’ as they say. I had fallen hard and deep, taking Caroline with me. The Council, masters of the Club and my fate – or so they thought -- had grown wary of my power. They sought to teach me a lesson with her death. I knew exactly what she had gone through in the final, terrible ritual. Who better? I had ripped the souls from our victims myself many times.

People have an amazing amount of energy, so much their physical bodies can barely contain it. The soul, or whatever you choose to call it, holds and harnesses this power. Magic has its own rules; its own physics and the power of the soul is all too real. Thousands upon thousands of years ago a small group of sorcerers learned how to transmute and consume this metaphysical energy. Their abilities and their lives were transformed. These men and women became Soul Eaters. Virtually immortal. Savagely powerful. But they could not do it alone. The ritual took four or five sorcerers working as one. They banded together to form a club. The Club. Unlike a ‘society,’ a club sounds innocent, even fun. A sociable group of people brought together for like-minded hobbies. In this case, the hobby was occult ritual and ‘The Club’ has been plaguing mankind ever since Oddly, removing a soul does not kill the victim outright. Depending on the strength of their spirit, they can last days, weeks, even months – though it is rare. It took all my magic to keep Caroline alive for six months as I tried in desperation to find all the pieces of her broken self.

When the victim becomes too weak, body and mind, to keep their soul tethered to this earth, the sorcerers break the chain binding them and consume the soul utterly. At that moment, the body turns to dust. Caroline had become a swirl of spiritual dust in my arms and taken what little of my humanity remained with her.

What the Council learned from their lesson was I could be terrible in my vengeance. Now I hunted them and took their souls. Any Soul Eater would do to enhance my own alchemy. Their blood was one of the most powerful accelerants for spells I had discovered so far. But I was hunting for a special few, those who had taken the three parts of my Caroline’s soul. Two had fallen to my blade. The last one still eluded me.

Good thing there was no human database for supernatural felons. I’d have been in handcuffs in a heartbeat. Little good handcuffs would do them. Still smiling, I took the escalator from Immigration down to the Customs level to pick up Hex and my luggage.

The werecat and I had been traveling companions many times. I stole her from my mother when I was sixteen, the last time I'd been back to our family estate outside London. Hex didn't seem to mind the change in ownership. She probably didn't like my mother any more than I did.

Despite the beast's hideous looks – one ear completely gone, bald spots where her muddy brown fur had just given up trying to grow back over the frequent scaring, the right side of her mouth twisted up into an unnerving sort of grin – she was an excellent tracker and look-out. In battle, she could be a bit of a wildcard. She belonged to the ‘bite them all and let God sort them out’ school of berserker logic.

Hex tried her best to stay on my side as long as she was bribed with large amounts of fish. When I told her she was coming with me to Japan, the cat was overjoyed. I several times saw her around London loitering outside Sushi bars scrutinizing menus and licking her whiskers.

I anticipated no problem getting her through customs. Unless they had a 'no big, ugly cats' law, we would be fine. The official paperwork for Hex was all in order. Though it nearly proved unnecessary since no one could seem to find her.

The duffle bags and suitcases I'd packed in London made their way onto the luggage carousel in a maddeningly haphazard fashion. Pets did not come down the ramp, they were wheeled out of the quarantine area by uniformed staff. My last bag finally made its way to me but still no Hex. Customs agents in navy blue and white uniforms stood clustered together nearby like a flock of pigeons, shooting wary glances at me. Something was obviously up.

Waving my paperwork, I asked after my cat.

There was much bowing and head shaking. Apparently, she was missing from her crate, the wire bars of the door twisted and torn. She had escaped. The customs people were upset about this. As was I.

Idiotic werecat. She was probably already on her way to Tokyo Bay preparing to eat her way through the wholesale fish district and anyone who got in her way.

The officials declared their earnest intentions to search for her. I said I would wait here in the customs clearance area until they completed that task. They left me with my pile of luggage and I quickly shifted to shadow mode, scampering up the down ramp on one of the luggage carousels as fast as I could go, just in case she was still in the building.

She was.

I saw her almost immediately. Well, half of her. The other half was buried inside the belly of a large red sea bream. Leave it to Hex to find something edible in the bowels of the airport transportation system. The end of her ragged tail zipped by on one of the other conveyors just out of reach.

“Hex!” I shouted. “Come here at once!”

Of course, she ignored me.

Stupid cat.

I ran up one conveyor belt then down another. Abandoning her catch, she jumped nimbly to avoid being shuffled into a loading bin, keeping just out of reach as we played tag in the underbelly of the airport. She seemed to be having a very good time and led me on a wild chase through the machinery. The fast-moving luggage loaders had become a vast kitty amusement park.

Leaping inelegantly over suitcases, boxes, and bags, I jumped from one belt to the next in pursuit. Shadow does not mean invisible. I would be showing up as a sort of gray smudge on security screens somewhere I was sure. No doubt setting off alarm bells and frightening the staff. Hex worked her way closer to the loading docks near the gates, tractors pulling in and out with loads of luggage for departures or arrivals. Loading crews stopped to stare as the largest and ugliest cat in existence jumped up and over their workstations. They probably thought some wild beast had escaped. I could only hope she wouldn't decide to transform into were-mode just to make things more difficult.

A chorus of shouts came from several directions, whether in pursuit of me or the cat I couldn't be sure. Probably both at this point. Werecats are not regular cats who have gone rogue. A distinct species, nearly sentient, yet in many ways much like other felines in form and function. No one knows exactly where they come from. The most common answer is, “Faerie.” In my opinion, the Faerie races probably herded them all together long ago and dumped them into our world to be rid of the bloody beasts.

I nearly had her when she stopped to sniff at a load of boxes. They had to contain frozen fish, nothing else could distract Hex faster. I actually held a handful of fur when she flipped up and over onto a swiftly moving ramp going back into the airport's innards leaving me with nothing but a fistful of fluff. Jumping after, I saw her a short way ahead. Hex was facing me, standing up on her hind legs. She could walk on two legs for a time if she wanted. Even for a sorcerer of my experience, a cat on two legs is an unnerving sight. She started to wiggle her hips back and forth in a mocking 'you can't catch me!' sort of dance. It was, however, her undoing. A low-slung barcode scanner smacked her squarely on the back of her furry head so hard I heard the thunkfrom where I balanced, two conveyors below.

She fell like a stone.

Leaping up and out, I tried to grab her as she bounced and rolled off one conveyor belt onto another. She was heading for the floor and a hard landing. Straining every muscle, I flung myself after, just managing to catch her by the tail before she hit. She swung back and forth in pendulum fashion directly above the heads of two luggage loaders. They scampered off in different directions waving their arms and screaming.

Flipping her up and into my arms, I ran back the way we had come, over and under conveyor belts, and sliding down the luggage ramp only to find I was now in the wrong terminal. Cursing, back I went through the maze of machinery, leaving confusion in my wake. I tried again, a long and tiring distance and this time got it right. As I climbed down onto the carousel, I could hear an ascending chorus of shouts behind us.

I threw her across the slick linoleum and pushing into the between-time of slipstreaming, jumped back to crouch behind the chewed-up pet crate where the security cameras could not see. Letting the shadow melt away, I stood just as Hex came to a stop next to me, legs splayed wide, quickly followed by a small herd of customs officials.

The best defense is a good offense.

I pointed accusingly. “What have you done to my cat!”

Her fur, patched and torn, skin scarred, and one good ear drooping, the customs people stared in what can only be described as bureaucratic horror at the devastation they believed had been wrought upon my beloved pet.

The cat in question groggily raised her head and proceeded to be extremely sick.

Werecats can throw up approximately 29.7 percent of their body weight at any given time. Quite a prodigious amount.

It was over an hour and much paperwork later before we were bowed out by the customs officials and airline staff full of apologies for allowing my cat to escape from an obviously faulty crate and be so horrifically damaged.

Pushing my luggage and cat-laden cart through the automatic sliding doors and into the arrivals terminal, I saw a sign with the Pantera family crest on it.

Albert Pantera, half-human, half-Daemon lead singer of the famous Albert Einsteins rock group, youngest son of Pantera Trading Inc. 'Specialists in Exotic and Rare Items' and the closest thing I had to a friend in this or any other world. He had arranged both a driver and accommodations for me. Traditionally the Daemon were go-betweens for the supernatural, spiritual, and human races. Peacemakers, deal brokers, they just wanted everyone to get along. Albert’s family interpreted that in their own unique and financially rewarding way. Pantera Trading carried on rather a lot of business dealings with the demon Oni clans of Japan as well as other supernatural beings in the Far East. They kept full-time offices and staff in Tokyo and Beijing.

The young Japanese man bowed. “Welcome to Japan, Lord Lake.” He took in Hex's disheveled appearance “Is your cat ill?”I tossed the cat at him and told him to shut up.

I'm British, I thought I knew what mildew could do. Obviously, I was being naïve.

The young Japanese driver tried not to stare as he unloaded Hex and my luggage at our new address. He even climbed back in the big black car and checked his navigation machine before handing over the key and saying, with an apologetic bow, “This appears to be the correct location, Lord Lake.” He didn't add, 'I'm sorry' though I was sure he wanted to.

Hex and I climbed the rusty metal stairs, unlocked the door to No. 3, and stared. The apartment Albert had found looked like it was in the advanced stages of some sort of skin disease. Blotched and peeling inside and out. In fact, it looked a lot like Hex and I told her so.

She gave a sneeze of disdain, scratched her one remaining ear with a large back paw and proceeded to christen one of the walls with a good rending, leaving deep grooves in whatever inferior material was underneath. Probably mud bricks. The driver deposited my luggage on the landing and bowed himself away as quickly as he could.

Apartment 3 was a compact studio with a tiny kitchen next to the entry door. The kitchen contained one set of metal cupboards under the sink and one above. There was a small stainless steel sink and counter-top and a rusty and much-used double gas burner to cook on.

Hex paced over to the fridge and growled. It was the size of a box, hardly bigger than her shipping crate and I had to agree with her assessment only a few fish could fit inside. I would need to buy a freezer, though not exclusively for Hex. My alchemy was a complex and unforgiving mistress. Blood was a vital component in my mixtures and must be kept frozen to stay viable.

A rectangular closet with sliding paper doors stood recessed into the back wall next to a large window mostly blocked by a double bed. A set of sheets, blanket, and heavy quilt sat neatly folded in the middle of the mattress. Next to the bed were two large black duffel bags delivered by Pantera Trading. These contained items for my alchemy that could not easily be brought into Japan. Or any country for that matter. Albert had taken care of that. Shipments of a delicate nature were another specialty of his family’s company.

Further exploration revealed a toilet designed for a much shorter person than myself. When sat upon, it was impossible to close the door as my knees jutted into the door frame. The bath wedged in next to it was the size of a large rubbish bin. Albert had arranged the rental and sparse furnishings. I truly was grateful. Albert is a good friend. More than I deserved. Nevertheless, as I texted my thanks, I couldn't help pointing out the size of the bathroom.

Albert texted back I was lucky to get a bath at all for the money I was paying, smiley face, smiley face.

This Japan visit could turn into an extended stay depending on my findings and I had to budget my resources. Most of my ready cash was tied up financing purchases both magical and mundane for my spellwork. The trustees of my inheritance from father and grandfather agreed to advance me an adequate amount from their point of view for my ticket and expenses. I told them I was going to study Japanese mythology as part of the dissertation for my Master of Arts degree. Which I was. Except the myths were alive and probably had knives. Possibly magic knives. In fact, I was hoping they did.

I planned to study the spells and weapons of the Yokai, the supernatural races that made Japan their home. Though this was just an adjunct to the main purpose for this trip.

The Club set up their cells of Soul Eaters in cities around the world and they were here in Japan after a long hiatus.

Standing on the bed, I shoved most of my luggage into the closet. At least the Club wouldn't think to look for me here. I wouldn't think to look for me here! Even their servants' servants had better living conditions. Opulence and elegance were what the Club members lived for. And lived... and lived... A byproduct of consuming souls was eternal youth.

I was on the Council’s 'most wanted' list of transgressors. No one in all their long history had turned on them with such fury as I. The Council had been right to fear my power. Too bad for them one of my gifts was to cloak myself in shadow and form. I was not an easy target and that was not bragging.

At this moment, I was just grateful to have a bed. Kicking off my shoes and still in my coat, I threw myself down on the musty mattress and fell asleep. Hex woke me. She was standing on my chest and crushing the air out of my lungs. I was gasping for breath and shoved her roughly off. She landed lightly on the floor and pointed with one paw at the window, her stumpy tail twitching back and forth.

Rubbing my eyes and trying to kick my brain back into high gear after the less-than-adequate nap, I turned to look where she was pointing. Outside the frosted window next to the bed was a shadow. A rather large shadow. With wings.

Cautiously sliding open the window, I was shoved aside by invisible hands. Something swooped in on a burst of wind. A cloud of dust surrounded by a swirl of leaves hovered above the worn flooring weaving this way and that exactly like a miniature tornado.

Hex jumped at least three feet in the air and retreated to the kitchen countertop to hiss and stare, both front paws raised as if she was going to spar with the thing, whatever it was. She was a big cat and has quite a good right hook.

The whirlwind sped around and around the room, sweeping me off my feet and onto the mattress before it blew itself back out the window. The dust and leaves settled revealing a black crow the size of a small child. It was wearing a starched white kimono with gold brocade and a little lacquer cap perched jauntily on its head.

Lifting one wing ending uncannily in what looked like feather fingers, the bird flashed me a peace sign.

This bird-like creature was, I knew, a Karasu Tengu, a Crow Spirit. Powerful beings capable of summoning the wind to do their bidding. Karasu Tengu had a reputation as cocky and mischievous, but not evil.

Reaching into one sleeve, it pulled forth a small paper scroll bound with brown ribbon.

I unrolled it. “Greetings, young Lord Lake,” it said. “If you fancy a drink, follow the bird. Rodrigo.”

Rodrigo. This was a surprise. Rodrigo was a vampire, an extraordinary kind of vampire in fact. What was he doing here?

Rubbing my tired eyes, I put my shoes back on, grabbed my muffler and followed the bird out the window, jumping easily to the ground. I left it open despite the chill so Hex could come and go as she pleased. I had to since otherwise, she would just chew a hole through the door. She had an entire city of sushi to pillage.

The bird strutted ahead and I looked around, getting my bearings. We were in Shinjuku, a lively area full of small businesses, working-class bars, convenience stores, cafes, and restaurants crowded together. Bright and noisy. There were no sidewalks on the side streets. Cars, bikes, and people jostled for space on the narrow road. Garish neon signs livened up the area even further. Before coming, I had researched this and several other parts of Tokyo through online street views and maps, getting to know landmarks, major and minor streets.

So far the city looked like a tumble of concrete blocks thrown in random patterns, no logic, no grid system. A good place for supernaturals to operate. Narrow lanes, twisted alleys and deep shadows. Hiding in plain sight a simple matter.

We stopped in front of a brick building a few blocks from my new flat. The first floor was a restaurant. Menu board out front, fairy lights lining the doorway and windows, a large fenced-in wooden terrace stood out front with a hip-high entry gate.

Rodrigo sat at a terrace table, his legs crossed and a long cigarette held loosely in one hand. His dog Pepero lay at his feet, looking deceptively sleepy. I say deceptively because Pepero was Rodrigo's familiar and did not remotely resemble the sweet-faced, curly-haired chocolate brown poodle all the girls came to coo and fuss over. They would not fuss so much if they could see beneath the glamourto his jagged leather wings and long, twisty tail.

Rodrigo jumped lightly up and over the terrace railing, coming to embrace me, spilling ash on my coat, kissing me on both cheeks, and attempting to take a small bite of my neck.

I pushed him away. “Behave yourself, or I'll be sorry I came.”

He gestured broadly. “To Japan? Or to see me?”

I followed him through the gate onto the terrace. Rodrigo was a slim, elegant young man, his black hair full on top and short at the sides as was the fashion. Fresh-faced and handsome with a white-out bright smile. He was not the undead and he was not of this world. Rodrigo was a Prime Vampire of Fae.

Unlike some local Dracula knock-off, Primes were closely related to the Elves and virtually immortal. They drew power directly from the elements – though only three of them. The fourth element, earth, air, fire or water, whichever it was, would kill them. Virtually the only thing that couldbring them the true death. I say the 'true death' because death has as many levels as love. The Prime were terrible in their strength. Much like Soul Eaters.He looked a little older than me. Maybe twenty-four or five. Though he could be twenty-four hundred years old for all I knew. I met him first when I was still with the Soul Eaters. In Madrid's Plaza Mejor, dressed in goat costume draped with iridescent tinsel, banging a drum, and holding a begging bowl.

Rodrigo, not me.

He had broken a rule imposed by Madrid's Prime master and mob boss – who was also his aunt -- and was being humiliated as punishment. Rodrigo being Rodrigo, he seemed to find it all immense fun rather than the embarrassment his aunt intended. Magic recognizes magic. We began talking and ended up at one of the cafes in the Plaza drinking beer and eating Iberico ham and salami. Except for Albert Pantera, I didn’t think of myself as having ‘friends’ but Rodrigo was an ‘acquaintance of note.’ Just because I liked him didn’t mean I trusted him.

Rodrigo bowed to the Crow Spirit. Much to my surprise, the tengufollowed me up onto the terrace. He pulled out a chair and with only a little difficulty, clambered into it, his tail twitching out from beneath the stiff linen folds of his kimono. He gave a throaty caw. A chill wind blew through the canyon of buildings and I shivered “Why are we sitting outside on the terrace? It's almost November. Can't you just tie up your dog so we can go inside?”

Pepero's head popped up and he gave me a hurt, puppy dog stare.

Rodrigo lit another cigarette and waved it in the air. “Do not blame little Pepero. Japan has finally caught on to the no-smoking craze. We are banished to the outdoor terrace.” He motioned for the waitress who brought me a blanket and a smile. Rodrigo ordered swiftly in flawless Japanese. She did not seem to notice the large crow in kimono sitting at the table with us. He must have a very good glamourindeed to disguise such an odd appearance.

“Before you ask, Albert told me you were coming. I owe his family a small favor.”

I laughed. “Everyone owes the Pantera family favors.”

Rodrigo nodded, gesturing with his cigarette. “It is true! It is true! I have not quite figured out if it is because the Panteras are actually so kind, regardless of race, color, creed, and demonic affiliation, or just terribly and deviously clever.”

A bit of both, I thought.

The waitress returned with three frothy mugs of draft beer.

We clinked glasses, even the crow.

I took a long drink of the cool draft and then watched in amazement as the little crow creature completely drained his, holding up the empty mug and cawing out. Obviously asking for more.

Rodrigo ordered another round for the crow.

“Why are you here, dear Lord Lake?”

I was still looking at the crow, who wiped off his beak on one black, feathery, wing.

“Sorry, what?”

He looked appraisingly at me, his perfectly-shaped brows drawn together. “Why did you come to Tokyo?”​“I need to kill a demon,” I answered truthfully.